Holiday Awakenings
by FFCoyoteX
Summary: Hardcastle and McCormick spend the holiday season together.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own the characters and no profit is being made.

He gently awoke and blinked to clear his head. Though a gray and drizzly day the light from the window was brighter than it should be. Mark realized he had overslept but more astonishingly Hardcastle had let him oversleep. Since moving into the gatehouse reveille came in various forms, ranging from a basketball bouncing outside his window to Hardcastle yelling for him from the bottom of the stairs, but it came consistently and it came early. Except this morning, nothing. Mark rolled out of bed and slipped on a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt. After a quick stop to use the facilities he headed over to the main house steeling himself for Hardcastle's wrath.

As he made his way across the yard he remembered it was Thanksgiving Day and it was among many of the things he found himself musing, "I wonder how this is going to work." It had been that way since he had agreed to the crazy plan of helping Judge Milton C. Hardcastle. "Agreed" wasn't exactly correct, "blackmailed" was a more accurate description. Helping the Judge chase down wanton criminals was better than a four by nine at San Quentin. He begrudgingly admitted to himself that despite the weirdness he liked being here and he actually liked the Judge. Still, it did lead to all sorts of wondering on how things would work.

Somewhere around mid-November as he and the Judge were watching a game a commercial came on for Thanksgiving turkeys and all the fixings. It depicted a warm glow around a table full of food surrounded by laughing, happy people. Then it hit Mark. How's Thanksgiving going to work? Not that every meal wasn't a feast at Gulls Way. Mark never before had a time in his life where he had steady, delicious and plentiful food. Sarah was an excellent cook and though he doubted she would admit it she remembered his favorites. Days that his chores were especially arduous always seemed to be capped off with a favorite meal or dessert. But Thanksgiving was different. It was a holiday. A meal to spend with family and close friends. Mark knew he was neither though recently he had allowed himself to feel a friendship might be percolating. But then he would remember the Judge's harsh words and he would reset his expectations to that of an employee, not a buddy, or a son. People did not share Thanksgiving feasts with their employee, especially an ex-con yardman.

Mark opened the back door and was immediately awash with glorious scents. Savory roasting meats, baking bread and pumpkin pie wafted in the warm kitchen air. Sarah sat at the table with a cup of coffee not looking at all like she had been up for hours cooking.

"Good morning, Mark." She motioned to the carafe on the counter. "I just made fresh coffee. What would you like for breakfast?" Mark was still drinking in the aroma and wondering if he had ever smelled anything so heavenly.

"Good morning. Coffee's great. I'll just grab some toast."

"Nonsense. Sit down and I'll fix you a proper breakfast." Mark poured his coffee and sat at the table.

"What're you cooking, it smells great?" Sarah cast him an incredulous frown and returned to her work.

"You do know it's Thanksgiving?" Mark dropped his eyes. She softened her tone and asked, "Don't you celebrate Thanksgiving?"

Mark could feel his face redden as he thought back on his Thanksgivings. His mom had always picked up extra waitressing shifts for the holidays. Their Thanksgivings were eaten late, after her shift, and consisted of reheated leftovers from the restaurant. After she was gone, he found little to be thankful for with his family Thanksgivings. The relatives would gather and remind him that he was an unwanted bastard child and how lucky he was to have a home with his uncle. Later the flow of liquor had Mark praying to not cross into his uncle's line of sight for fear of another beating. The foster homes had not been much better. Utilitarian and dispassionate the holiday often went unnoticed or was marked with a cursory attempt at a turkey dinner. Of course, none of those were as bad as the last two that he spent eating off a tray on long tables in the meal hall. It had almost been worse that San Quentin tried to make it special. The lumpy potatoes, mushy green beans, turkey-like pressed meat and glutinous gravy didn't inspire any thanks and made it all the more depressing. There had been a few real Thanksgivings with Flip and Barbara. Those memories he held almost as dear as those with his mom. He suddenly became sad, missing Flip and his mom, until his thoughts were broken by Sarah placing a plate of food in front of him.

"Thank you," he murmured. He dropped his eyes, not wanting Sarah to see his grief, as he tucked into his food. She sat across from him with a fresh cup of coffee. She watched him carefully and Mark felt her gaze piercing into his thoughts. He was thankful when Hardcastle came barreling into the kitchen interrupting the silent inquisition.

"There you are. Did you get enough sleep there? I was beginning to wonder if you'd get up before we carved the bird."

Mark swallowed and with a quick gander at the clock shot back, "You know Hardcase, you could stand a little beauty sleep yourself. And in the sane world getting up at 7:30 is actually considered reasonably early."

"Nonsense," Hardcastle waved a dismissive hand. "Wasting half the day. We have things to do." Mark started eating faster sensing he was about to be dragged away to an appointment with gutters or a hedge. Sarah scowled at him and Mark carefully put his fork down and mumbled an apology.

"And you, Judge, let the boy finish eating." Hardcastle frowned but remained silent. No one took on Sarah, especially not on her home turf. Mark ate a couple more bites, pushed back from the table and carried his plate to the sink.

"Thanks, Sarah. That was great. What'd you need me to do, Judge?"

Hardcastle clapped his hands together. "Come on into the den. I have a couple of files to look over before the game starts."

Mark tried not to look too bewildered as he followed the Judge into the den. He understood the concept of people sitting around watching football on Thanksgiving but he had never had the opportunity himself. When they entered the den Mark saw the TV was already on; Bryant Gumbel was previewing the Thanksgiving Day Parade.

"Thought we could read things over as we watch the parade." Mark stood with eyes riveted on the TV.

"Hey. You with me here, McCormick?" Hardcastle inquired. Mark slowly turned from the screen and faced the judge. Hardcastle noted his eyes were wide and misty and then instantly McCormick's face went void of all emotion.

"Uh, yeah, sorry. I was just, uh, yeah I'm fine. What're the files about, Hardcase? Some guy get away with jaywalking and we're going to stake out the crosswalks until we catch him in the act?" Hardcastle recognized the misdirection for what it was.

"Sit down, Kiddo. Cut the crap, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong except you wanting to sit and watch a parade while we go over case files. Sorry, that's not the way I'm used to spending Thanksgiving." McCormick regretted the words. How he spent the holidays was not a door he had intended to open.

"Yeah? Well, I'll have you know lots of people enjoy watching the parade but hey, if you'd rather not, I'm sure the pool could use a good cleaning. But before you do that, how about you stop avoiding the question and tell me why a parade made you turn white as a sheet."

Mark stared at the Judge who stared back. Mark sighed. "It's just, you know, I used to watch the parade with my mom before she had to go to work. I guess I hadn't thought about it in a long time. It just kinda hit me." Mark looked at Hardcastle, waiting for him to scoff. Instead, he saw a small, knowing smile and a faraway look in the old man's eyes. He looked sympathetic. But that couldn't be, Hardcase Hardcastle was not sympathetic, was he?

"I can turn it off," Hardcastle suggested quietly.

"Nah. I like it," Mark said. And with a smile added, "Maybe there'll be a Dixieland marching band and you can pick up some pointers."

Hardcastle grinned, happy for the return to normalcy. "Sure, and you can watch how they drive the cars and learn something about appropriate speed and control on city streets."

Both men settled into chairs and watched the parade offering comments and quips as the floats went by, the files strewn on the table, forgotten.

Sarah, who had been placing a quilt to the hall closet, had overheard the exchange. She smiled and returned to the kitchen. Thanksgiving feasts didn't prepare themselves and she, thankfully, had a family to feed.


	2. Chapter 2

He startled awake not knowing what had interrupted his sleep. The dim light coming in from the window baffled him. Not bright enough to be morning or even dawn. His sleep-fogged brain tried to sort it out. Then the loud VWOOMP on the bedroom wall cleared the fog and made it all obvious; the lights on the basketball court and Hardcastle throwing free-throws outside his bedroom window. He found the clock, 4:40 AM, and groaned as he heard Hardcastle yell, "McCormick! You gonna sleep all day or get down here?" Mark considered taking door number one but something in the Judge's tone told him this was not the time to push back. He pulled himself out of bed, feeling the chill of the predawn day, dressed and staggered out to the court.

"What the hell, Hardcase? What's with the midnight practice? Did you get into the peanuts again and forget how to tell time?"

"Very funny, Hotshot. Whaddya say we play to 40 for $40?" Mark did a quick mental check of his finances and his not-so-awake muscles and shook his head. "Nope. That'd be a sucker bet. 20 for $20 and I take it out."

"Sure, okay. If you figure you aren't up to taking a man twice your age that's fine. Take it out." Hardcastle teased but there was a bite to his remarks. Not the first time in the past few weeks Mark wondered what had gotten into the old donkey. He tossed the ball to Hardcastle who swatted it back. "Check." Mark grabbed it, leaned right then turned left going for a layup but ran right into the Judge who knocked him to the ground, grabbed the ball and made a shot.

"Nice try," the Judge smirked and didn't offer him a hand up. The game went downhill from there with Hardcastle delivering malicious jabs and shoves. The Judge gave Mark an elbow to the midsection and followed it with a shove that sent Mark to the ground, landing hard on the edge of the court. Hardcastle jumped over him, made the shot then looked down at McCormick and gloated.

"Ha! That's 20 and you owe me $20 so pay up." Mark stared at him not knowing what to make of the nasty attitude.

"I'll bring it over when I come for breakfast. When's that, anyway? Two hours from now?"

"I'm not running a resort here. You got a lot of chores to do and there's no reason to be putting it off. Breakfast will be ready in 10 minutes then you can get to work." McCormick looked in the distance at the barely risen sun.

"Ah Juuuuuuudddge, c'mon. Not even going to give me time to take a shower? Besides, what kind of decent breakfast can you make in 10 minutes?" McCormick joked.

Hardcastle glared at him then snarled, "You'll get what you're fed. Now do what you're told and get moving." Mark started to reply but the Judge had turned his back and was stomping back to the house. Mark watched in disbelief then slowly pushed himself off the ground with a groan. He didn't realize it until he started moving but that last shot to the midsection and landing hard on his ribs had caused some hurt. He was already becoming stiff and pain was setting in. It was going to be a long day.

Mark walked slowly through the back door. Hardcastle was nowhere to be seen but Sarah handed him a hot stack of pancakes. Mark reached for the plate, winced and instinctively braced himself with his right arm. Sarah watched him as he placed the plate on the table.

"What happened to you?" she sternly asked.

"Nothing. Just a hitch. I'm fine. Thanks for breakfast." Mark walked over and with his left hand reached for a coffee mug, making sure Sarah could not see him gasp.

As Mark unenthusiastically ate his breakfast Sarah watched him. Looking up and seeing her he straightened and keeping his voice light asked, "What's on the ole' chore list today?" Sarah continued to observe him for a moment but Mark made sure to show no sign of discomfort.

She sighed and replied, "There's a list on the counter. Are you up for working?" Mark got up and put his plate in the sink.

"Sure, why wouldn't I be?" Before she could respond he located the list and shoved it in his pocket. "Thanks for breakfast, it was delicious." He quickly exited.

Mark gave the list a quick scan. He sighed and started gathering tools being careful not to reach or stretch too much. He figured once he got moving the pain would ease. He put the tools in the wheelbarrow and headed out to start trimming hedges. As he got to work he thought about the Judge. They had enjoyed a wonderful Thanksgiving a few weeks back. It was one of the best Mark had ever known and he thought that things were really going well between Hardcastle and him. That little niggling that they were becoming more than just business associates grew into full-fledged acceptance after Thanksgiving. For the first time in years, Mark was looking forward to Christmas. He found himself whistling festive tunes, imagining what the estate would look like all decked out and he even managed to find gifts for Sarah and the Judge.

With each passing day, Mark's mood improved while conversely, the Judge's mood declined. Hardcastle started opting out of watching evening movies and weekend football games and was becoming increasingly withdrawn. When he did speak it was surly and stunted, usually accompanied with a callous comment. By mid-December Mark realized there wouldn't be any decorations and he wondered if the day would even be acknowledged. Maybe Thanksgiving had been a fluke. Maybe he had completely misinterpreted the jurist's signals. He chastised himself for thinking there was even a fledgling friendship. He adjusted his expectations and took his cheer level down several notches.

Even with Mark's more subdued attitude Hardcastle's disposition continued to spiral. Each day he came up with a chore list longer than the day before. Mark was working from breakfast until dinner and still wasn't getting it all finished. To make matters worse each night the Judge's wrath over the incomplete chores was escalating. Mark enjoyed the friendly banter that had become the norm between them but the Judge's attitude had taken on a mean streak and if Mark shot back Hardcastle came down on him, hard. Though the Judge didn't voice it, Mark felt the threat of returning to prison in every heated comment. He found himself dreading dinner. Sarah was making all of his favorite dishes yet he barely touched the food. Sarah took notice and asked if he felt ill. He assured her he felt fine but in truth he was feeling run down and his nerves were tied in knots anticipating the next eruption of Mount Hardcastle, or worse, finding himself hauled off in cuffs.

As Mark worked on the hedge Milt sat in his den watching his young charge. He knew he had been unfairly taking his bad mood out on the kid. Thanksgiving had been surprisingly enjoyable. He would have bypassed it completely, as he had since his wife and son had passed away, except Sarah insisted on fixing a traditional meal. She didn't have to do too much persuasion to get the Judge to agree. He had never intended to allow a friendship to form with his employee but it was undeniable that the building of a friendship and a strong bond was well underway. He liked the kid and enjoyed spending time with him. It felt right to share Thanksgiving together.

Later Thanksgiving evening McCormick had fallen asleep on the couch while they watched a movie. The Judge watched his softly snoring friend. He went to the closet for a blanket, one of the quilts Nancy had liked so much, and he laid it over McCormick. He smiled, thinking how youthful and innocent McCormick looked and considered how content he felt having him here. And then he looked at the quilt, remembered Nancy laying that same blanket over their sleeping son, and a tidal wave of guilt swept over him. They were gone. No more Thanksgivings, no more warm blankets, just gone. Yet here he was fully sated, peaceful and enjoying the company of someone who was starting to feel like a son. It was not right. He shouldn't be feeling this way; it was trampling on the memory of those he loved and missed so dearly.

Milt returned to his chair but rather than watch the movie he mediated between warring factions within him. One side wanted to remain sullen and remorseful, full of mourning for his lost family. The other side felt alive, needed and happy. He didn't know which side to give in to and the indecision was unsettling. After a bit Mark awoke, notice the blanket and smiled, a warm smile.

"Guess I fell asleep. Thanks, Judge." Hardcastle managed a grunt then abruptly stood, walked out of the room barely mumbling "Night," as he lumbered up the stairs.

Over the next few weeks, McCormick's ever-present cheer was grating on Hardcastle's nerves. At first it was a minor irritation but the more he thought about it the more it became a festering wound. He didn't want to feel happy, dammit, and Mark's cheer kept threatening to drag him out of his dark mood. He found himself piling on to the kid's chores hoping at first just to keep him busy and later to make him so tired as to not want to participate in their after-dinner routine. When McCormick was still showing up asking about the night's movie or game, Hardcastle became more peeved and started finding things to complain about. The last thing he wanted was to sit with the kid and watch a movie laced with cheery holiday ads. He knew the kid did not deserve all that he was dishing out and he marveled that he continued to take it, but he couldn't stop himself. If staying true to his family's memory meant tearing down McCormick then that's what he would do. In his head he knew what he was doing was wrong but in his heart he was not ready to let go of his sorrow. He just wanted the holidays to be over so they could return to normal.

As he watched Mark work Milt noted how slowly he moved along with the occasional grimace. Milt feared he had injured the kid during their morning game. McCormick, to his credit, took what the Judge dished out and didn't give half as much back. Their games were always physical but usually it was a fair and innocuous exchange that resulted in bruises and scrapes but no serious damage. Today Hardcastle had taken it up a notch, several notches actually, and given how McCormick was moving he knew he had probably hurt him worse than the kid would admit.

The Judge heard a shuffling behind him and turned to find Sarah standing next to him also looking out the window.

"It's not his fault, your Honor."

"What're you talking about?" he brusquely replied but Sarah saw right through his gruffness.

She smiled gently, "Now you might be able to pull that attitude with him but don't try it with me. You have been pushing that boy away and you know it."

"That wasn't my intention," the Judge responded.

"Nonsense. Of course it's your intention. Just as it's been your intention ever since Nancy left us. You have pushed away your friends, family and even me. Only I don't push as easily as most." This got a smile out of the Judge but he remained silent. Sarah plodded on, "The difference is Mark doesn't understand why you're pushing and more importantly, he has nowhere good to go when you push him too far." Sarah turned and quietly left the room leaving Hardcastle to consider her words. She was right, he knew, but the internal war raged on and he couldn't settle on a winning side.

As Mark continued on the hedges he noted the weather had turned chilly. He considered going for a sweatshirt but he felt Hardcastle watching him and did not want to give him anything to gripe about. He would grab a sweatshirt at lunch. Only he didn't feel much like eating. His head ached and despite the exertion of the work, the cold weather had given him a chill. His ribs ached but if he kept his elbow pinned to his side and didn't lift much it was manageable. He was pretty sure they weren't broken but it was painful nonetheless. As he gathered the trimmings he looked up to see the Judge trudging towards him, fire in his eyes. Mark sighed. He knew he was reaching his limits and one of these times he was going to snap. He carefully tried to bury his rising ire. Even an ignored Christmas at Gulls Way with Hardcase on his back was better than spending it in a four by nine with an assigned cellie. He needed to keep his cool. He straightened up and awaited the onslaught.

"McCormick! What're you doing out here with only a t-shirt on? Do you want to catch your death of cold?"

Mark counted silently to five and was able to keep his voice in check but sarcastic tones leaked out, "Yes, Hardcase, that's what I was aiming for. I thought since I shouldn't expect anything from Santa for Christmas I would give myself a cold. Whaddaya think? Am I a small, medium or large?" Before he could say more that he would regret Mark took hold of the wheelbarrow and marched his clippings towards the back of the yard.

"McCormick!" Hardcastle yelled. "Don't you turn your back and walk off when I'm talking to you. Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"

Mark stopped in his tracks. This time he counted to ten before he turned and to ten again before he spoke. His voice was low and edgy. "I apologize. What else did you want, your Honor?"

"What I want is for you to go put on a jacket and stop acting like a stubborn jackass."

Mark smiled. "Nope, you have the market cornered on jackass. Unless I missed a page there's no stipulation in my parole about a dress code for doing yardwork. And since I have a rather demanding taskmaster who gives me 30 hours of work to complete in a day I need to get back to it. So, by your leave…" Mark attempted a mock bow but stopped midway with a groan, feeling his ribs catch. "McCormick…" the Judge saw his pain and had stepped towards him reaching out but Mark turned, took up the handles and continued away. The Judge watched him go, then turned and trudged back to the house. Sarah was right. He needed to end his war before he drove the kid away for good.

Mark dumped the trimmings in a pile at the edge of the property. His ribs were hurting and he was dead tired. He felt sweat forming on his face. At least the weather wasn't as cold but the air was thick with moisture, a sure sign that a storm was on the way. He needed to get things put away before the rain started. He sat, leaned on the fence and tried to settle his breathing. He put his head back and closed his eyes. Just breathe easy, he thought, that'll make the pain ease up. As he concentrated on taking shallow breathes he drifted off to sleep.

Sarah watched the exchange between the two men. She had not needed to hear the words to know it didn't go well. She sighed and went back to preparing lunch. From the small snippets of information Mark occasionally shared with her she gleaned that the young man had not had too many happy holidays. Goodness knew the Judge could stand to enjoy the holidays as well and maybe this young man would be the thing to make Hardcastle ease up on his grief. Thanksgiving had gone very well, she thought, but afterward, the Judge had sunk into his usual holiday depression and Mark's enthusiasm seemed to make the Judge descend deeper every day. She could see how his biting words wounded Mark and wondered if the emotional injury he was wreaking would be irreparable.

Hardcastle entered through the back door mumbling, "Stupid kid doesn't have a lick of sense. It's freezing out there, he's sweating like a pig and he has nothing but a t-shirt. And I _know_ he's hurting. Calls me a stubborn donkey well he's a stubborn MULE."

"Everything okay, your Honor," Sarah innocently asked.

"NO, everything's NOT okay. Sometimes that kid makes me want to tear my hair out."

Sarah cocked her head. "Seems I remember hearing those words from you about another young man who used to frustrate you."

Hardcastle turned on her. "He is NOT my son," he seethed.

"Of course he isn't. And he doesn't think he is. But don't sit there and tell me you don't feel 'fatherly' towards him and I know he looks up to you." Sarah's growl rivaled the Judge's.

Hardcastle stared for a moment then turned on his heel and retreated to the den. Her words had put a heavy dent in the defenses he had spent weeks shoring up. He needed to get away before she broke them down completely. But Sarah knew he was on the ropes. She followed him into the den.

"Just because you loved them doesn't mean you cannot be happy now." He turned to look out the window, watching the raindrops starting slowly then building to a steady flow. "Do you think they would want you to be like this?" Sarah was ready with one last salvo and seeing the softened look as he turned to face her she thrust it home.

"And what did Mark do to deserve all the cruelty you're dishing out?" Sarah softened her delivery. "You have a chance with that boy, your Honor, for both of your sakes, don't let him down." With that she withdrew, hoping she had inflicted enough damage for the walls to crumble and to bury his pain beneath them.

By the time Mark woke the rain was coming down steadily. He was soaking wet and shivering. The old donkey was right, he was an idiot for being out in this weather. He gathered the tools and returned them to the shed as fast as his aching side allowed him to move. He then made his way to the gatehouse.

The hot water had started to warm his bones when the shower suddenly went cold. He jumped out from under the stream but not before the cold water chased away the warmth he had started to feel. He cursed Hardcastle and wondered what was older, the donkey or the plumbing in his small house. He quickly dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt then pulled an afghan around himself and curled up on the couch trying to get warm in the drafty little house.

"McCormick! Where you at?" he heard the Judge bellow just before he barged in. "Whaddya doing?"

"What's it look like I'm doing?" Mark yelled back as he jumped up from the couch throwing off the afghan. He couldn't help but gasp at the movement as he instinctively grabbed his side. He saw the Judge noticed his wince so he went on the offensive. "Can't you ever knock? And are you ever going to fix the plumbing or the heat in this house? Ice water showers and freezing temperatures are not what I signed up for."

The Judge's look of concern quickly turned to rage. "No, I don't knock in my own house and what you signed up for is whatever I tell you. Now tone down the attitude. And Sarah has lunch ready."

"Sorry." Mark backed off. He walked past the Judge and opened the door, gesturing for Hardcastle to proceed him. The Judge dampened his own temper as he left the house, "And put on a jacket, it's raining."

Mark picked at the sandwich. He managed to eat half and hoped that it would pass muster. He felt a bit congested and despite adding a sweatshirt and the warmth of the kitchen he still felt chilled. Worse, he was finding it more and more difficult to take a breath without experiencing shooting pain.

He carried his plate to the sink and without turning he asked, "Looks like this weather's going to stick for a while. Anything you want me to do until I can get back to the yardwork?" Sarah looked at the Judge and silently nudged him to say something. The Judge did not miss her prompt.

"Nah. You've been going at it hard the past couple weeks, why don't you just take the afternoon off." Mark turned to face the Judge, not sure what to say, so said nothing, then departed through the back door.

"What?" said Hardcastle seeing Sarah's glare. "What'd you want me to say?"

"You know as well as I do that boy's hurting. He hasn't eaten a decent meal in weeks and now he's obviously injured and trying to hide it."

"Now Sarah, he's a grown man and I'm not his mother. If he's sick or hurt he can say something. If he doesn't I'm going to assume he's okay." Sarah held her stare, slowly shook her head and then turned and headed out of the room. Hardcastle slunk away to the den.

Mark had re-assumed his afghan cocooned position on the couch shivering in pain. He was beginning to rethink his prognosis of nothing being broken. Every breath caused a wave of agony and the cough he was developing was no help. He remained as still as he could and took only the shallowest of breaths. Eventually, he drifted into a sleep of pain filled dreams. When he awoke the gatehouse was mostly dark and he could hear the rain. After a quick trip to the bathroom, he got a glass of water and swallowed two aspirin. He knew it was dinner time but he had no desire to make the trip to the main house much less to eat. He carefully mounted the stairs to his bedroom then nestled into the most comfortable position he could find trying to breathe lightly, curling up to keep warm.

He awoke in the morning to the sound of rain and wind pelting his windows. He gingerly made his way downstairs and was pleased that his side was slightly less painful. After another dose of aspirin, he donned a jacket then ducked his head into the rain to head to the main house.

The kitchen was warm and smelled of coffee. Sarah put down a plate of eggs and bacon and indicated for Mark to sit.

"Morning," he mumbled as he poured coffee. "Sorry I missed dinner, guess I was really tired," Hardcastle grunted but did not look up from his paper. "Um, Judge, if it's okay with you I'd like to go out for a bit tonight." Hardcastle lowered the paper and eyed Mark suspiciously.

"Go out? Go out where?"

"Well, church. I'd like to go to Midnight Mass, I mean, if it's okay with you." Mark felt himself flush a bit but he held the Judge's gaze and waited for a response.

"I didn't know you went to church."

"Well, I haven't in a long time. My mom and I used to go and we always went on Christmas Eve. But if you don't want me to I can stay here. I mean with this weather it'd be a good night to stay in and catch a movie." Mark's tone sounded hopeful.

"Nah. No reason to stay here. Go on and enjoy yourself." Hardcastle picked up the paper putting an end to the conversation. Mark silently finished his breakfast disappointed that the Judge had picked this one time to be so agreeable.

Mark was grateful for the continued rain allowing him to spend the day undisturbed in the gatehouse. He rested but the congestion slowly increased in his head and chest. Great. One more addition to what was turning out to be a typically horrible Christmas, now he was catching a cold. By mid-afternoon, he was running a slight fever and had developed a cough. He considered skipping church that evening but he thought of his mom and didn't want to miss the one little piece of Christmas he could enjoy. He looked at the wrapped gifts he had purchased weeks ago for Sarah and Hardcastle. He deliberated taking them over to the main house but thought better of it. He bundled up and headed out the door.

He sat in the back pew and as far from others as he could. Even if he was going to be miserable and sick he didn't want to infect others. As the services went on he felt worse and worse. He tried to stifle his cough but the singing, candle smoke and incense were making it increasingly difficult to do so. Maybe being out in the cold night was not a good idea. He just wanted to get home then spend the next few days hiding from Hardcastle to avoid the "I told you so."

As the service ended Mark was hit with a bad coughing jag and he couldn't stop the deep hacking. As he struggled to breath he heard a snap, instantly feeling a jolt of severe pain. He was unable to catch a breath through the coughing and quickly became light headed. Panic started to build as he struggled to breathe. The room was spinning, his knees started to buckle as he grappled for anything to grab a hold of to steady himself. The darkness closed in and then all went black. He was unconscious before he hit the floor.

Christmas morning Hardcastle dressed, made his bed and found Sarah in the kitchen.

"Good morning," he said as he poured coffee. Sarah paused.

"Good morning, your Honor. And Merry Christmas." Hardcastle scowled but before he could respond the phone rang and he jumped to answer it.

"Hardcastle." He listened for several moments.

"What? What happened? Is he okay?" Sarah looked at him with concern. "Yeah, yeah, okay. I'll be there as soon as I can." He hung up and hurried towards the den anxiously calling over his shoulder. "Mark's in the hospital. They won't tell me what's wrong because I'm not family." Sarah had a dozen questions but she dutifully grabbed a coat from the closet while Hardcastle retrieved a file from his desk. "I'll call as soon as I know anything." He paused, noting the worried expression on her face. "Don't worry, I'm sure he'll be fine." He took the coat and hustled out the door.

Hardcastle bolted out of the elevator and stormed the ICU. "I'm here to see Mark McCormick," he demanded of the first person he could find. The nurse looked him over then checked her records. "I'm sorry, he didn't list any next-of-kin and only family is allowed into the ICU."

"My name's Judge Hardcastle and I'm McCormick's legal guardian," the Judge started handing over papers.

The nurse was unimpressed. "That may well be but without approval, you aren't going in."

Hardcastle's face turned red as he prepared to deliver a lecture on the legalities of guardianship when he spotted Charlie Friedman, an old friend and family doctor, anxiously approaching him.

"Milt. What're you doing here? Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay, Charlie. I'm trying to find out about McCormick but no one will tell me what's going on."

"Oh. I didn't realize he was _your_ Mark McCormick or I would've called you myself. The priest who accompanied him in the ambulance must have given your name and number to the registration nurse."

"Ambulance? Priest?" Hardcastle whispered the words. "Why does he need a priest? What the hell's going on?"

"Relax, Milt. Mark passed out at church and the parish priest came here with him. He's sitting with him now. Mark has a bad case of pneumonia, I'm afraid, and his coughing caused two ribs to break, though from the bruising I suspect the coughing only aggravated a previous injury." Hardcastle cringed with guilt. "Oh, you know something about that, huh? Anyway, it looks like the coughing displaced two ribs and when he passed out he hit his head. I don't think he has a concussion but we'll keep an eye on it. I'm more concerned about the fluid in his lungs. His breathing is too shallow. Probably because those ribs are hurting he's not breathing deeply enough to clear things out. He's running a fever and hasn't been coherent. We have him on oxygen now but if things don't turn around soon I'll have to have him intubated."

"Can I see him?" Hardcastle's heart was pounding listening to the litany of medical issues. Mark seemed fine the previous morning, how could he be in ICU just a day later?

"Sure, Milt, but keep calm. Last thing we need is for Mark to get excited." Hardcastle nodded his understanding and followed the doctor into the small cubicle. Mark's eyes were closed and Hardcastle could see the sheen of sweat. A quick look at the monitor told him the kid's blood pressure and heart rate were high. Father Atias was sitting by his bedside his hands clasping Mark's with his head bowed in prayer. He looked up, crossed himself then stood to meet Hardcastle.

"He was asking for you," the priest said. Hardcastle nodded once.

"I should have stopped this. I knew he was hurting and I didn't do anything." Hardcastle couldn't put words to his next thought…how could he have done this to his friend?

Father Atias smiled sympathetically.

"Mark said you had a wonderful Thanksgiving together." Hardcastle nodded, curious as to when the priest and Mark had talked. "Sometimes it takes a really bad thing for us to recognize a really good thing."

"You telling me God works in mysterious ways?" Hardcastle asked.

"Something like that. Now that you're here I'll head out. I'll stop by tomorrow. Mark'll be glad you're here."

Hardcastle stepped aside to allow the priest to pass but he never took his eyes off of Mark. He sat at his bedside and reached to cover his hands as Father Atias had done. Charlie Friedman found him like that several hours later.

"Is he going to be okay?" Hardcastle asked, barely above a whisper.

"He's very sick, Milt. Right now we need those antibiotics to kick in and knock out the infection. Then, if the pulmonologist can get his breathing squared away and he can start coughing up some of the crud he should recover quickly."

Milt nodded again. Charlie finished his exam, made notes on the chart then gave Milt's shoulder a pat and quietly left the room. Milt reached out again and put his hand on Mark's. He did not want to go through this again. He couldn't lose another son. He bristled at the thought. McCormick was not his son. But then the wall tumbled down and with it the dam failed and tears leaked slowly down his face. He knew then that Mark was and always would be like a son to him and he prayed nothing would take him away.

Mark felt the rough hand on his and instinctively knew it was the Judge. Every breath brought a jolt of pain and his head was awash in a murky haze. But he turned his hand to weakly grab onto the Judge's and he relaxed. Hardcastle was there. He didn't have to be afraid and he knew he would be safe. At that moment he felt joy and contentment; he had someone to watch over and care for him. It was a Merry Christmas, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

He awoke in a bewildered state. His mind was foggy as he tried to sort through where he was, how we got there and the noises he heard. His eyes were closed; he concentrated hard to clear his head. Strange sounds: beeping, gurgling and a low rhythmic rumble. He forced his eyes open and was greeted with a strange diffused light coming from behind his head. Not sunlight, something fluorescent. A hospital? He tried to put it together but it was too difficult to think through so he gave up. He saw the monitor that was causing the beeps and the gurgling sound seemed to be coming from his own breathing. Lastly, he identified the source of the rumbling; Judge Hardcastle was asleep in the chair close to his bedside, softly snoring.

Slowly it came back to Mark. He recalled being at church then waking to the comfort of Hardcastle holding his hand. He remembered being panicked, unable to breathe, uncontrollable coughing, endless falling into darkness. Then Hardcastle put his strong hand over Mark's and he felt cared for, safe…feelings he had not felt for a long time. From there on it was hazy. Jumbled memories of pain, difficulty breathing, something beating on his back, coughing, more pain. But in all the memories Hardcastle was there. Talking to him, reassuring him, willing him to get well. He was an anchor that Mark gratefully latched onto.

Mark tried to turn a bit in the bed and felt a shooting pain in his side which elicited a spontaneous groan. Ah, broken ribs, he remembered that too. Hardcastle, sensing the stirring, opened his eyes and ran his hand across his face. Mark wondered if he looked as tired and done-in as Hardcastle did.

"Hey, McCormick. You're awake."

Mark tried to respond but realized he had an oxygen mask on and his throat was bone dry. He managed a slight nod and rasped out a request, "Water?" Hardcastle stood and left the room, returning shortly with a cup and a spoon.

"Nothing to drink until the doc gets a look at you but here's some ice chips. It'll help." He lifted the mask and proceeded to spoon some chips in. Mark let the ice melt, enjoying the cool, refreshing water soothing his throat. Hardcastle gently replaced the mask and then reached for the call button. Mark looked at him quizzically. "They'll want to know you decided to join the living." Mark squeaked out a question.

"What happened?"

"What happened is that as usual, you didn't listen to me when I told you to put on a jacket. You got pneumonia and it darned near did you in." Hardcastle's gruffness had undertones of worry and relief. "You ended up coughing so hard you busted two ribs and then passed out and hit your head." Mark kept his eyes riveted on the Judge but did not comment. Hardcastle continued. "Father Atias called an ambulance and they brought you here. Your fever finally broke last night."

"Father Atias? Oh, yeah, I was at Midnight Mass. I guess I missed Christmas," Mark said sadly.

"Missed Christmas and then some, Kiddo. You've been out of it for two days." Mark looked on in disbelief.

"Two days? I've been sleeping for two days and you didn't once wake me up to do chores?" Mark's voice was weak but the Judge chuckled at the kid's attempt at levity.

"Yeah well I tried to but Charlie told me you needed your beauty sleep and to let you be." Mark again looked puzzled. "Charlie Friedman. He's my doctor, and I guess yours now too. He's an old friend. He's been looking after you."

"Is that the best you can do for an introduction, Milt?" Charlie walked through the door with a nurse in tow. "Hi Mark, it's nice to see you awake. How you feeling?"

"Not so great, Doc," Mark replied honestly. "Feel like I can't catch my breath."

"Actually, your lungs have cleared up considerably. You still have a ways to go but you're making progress. I have to tell you, young man, you had us worried." Charlie glanced sideways at Hardcastle as if to indicate who "us" was. He used the controls to raise the bed. "Let me get a listen to your chest. Now breath as deep as you can." Mark took a deep breath, winced, and then coughed.

"Oh man, that hurts," he coughed out.

"Those ribs are going to be hurting for some time. If you can tolerate it, you're better off without the pain meds. The medication can hinder the lungs clearing out and slow down your progress. But I don't want you to suffer, so you let me know when you need some pain relief. Most importantly you need to sit up and breathe deeply." Mark nodded and attempted to breathe as deeply as he could, gritting his teeth against the pain.

"Good." He turned to the nurse. "Let's get him some acetaminophen just to take the edge off and make sure the pulmonologist sees him this morning. "Mark, I think you're going to do just fine and probably be out of here in a couple of days. Milt, he's going to need lots of rest and some outpatient care."

"Resting is what he does best, Charlie," the Judge teased. Then seriously added, "Sarah and I'll make sure the kid gets what he needs and he's going to do what he's told. Right?" he addressed the question to Mark who continued to concentrate on his deep breathing but nodded.

"Good," said Charlie. "As for you, Milt, go home and get some rest yourself. Mark needs to sleep and you look like hell. I don't have the time or patience to treat you both, so go home." Charlie grinned and patted Mark on the arm. "I'll check in with you later. Keep up that breathing but get some rest too." Charlie made a few notations on the chart and left the room.

Mark took a few more deep breathes then leaned back heavily on the bed, closing his eyes. Milt jumped up. "You okay, kid?" he asked, worry seeping into his voice. Mark kept his eyes closed but gave a slight nod.

"Hurts." He said softly. "Tired." Mark opened his eyes and looked at the Judge. "He's right, Hardcase, you look like crap. Go home and get some sleep. I'm going to rest now." Hardcastle struggled with what to do. He was dog-tired and the thought of a long sleep in his own bed was tempting but he was reluctant to leave the kid.

"I'll be here when you come back. And bring a burger with fries...and a shake." Mark closed his eyes. Hardcastle smiled and lowered the bed.

"Okay kid. You rest easy. I'll be back this afternoon." Hardcastle placed his hand on Mark's and gave a squeeze. Mark smiled faintly as he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Two days later Mark sat impatiently on the edge of the hospital bed. His breathing was still jagged but he was coughing less and the pain was tolerable. He was dressed and ready to go, though the morning activity had left him exhausted and irritable. He tried to control his breathing and to take deep breaths as he had been instructed but really he wanted to lay down and sleep.

"Ready to go, McCormick?" Hardcastle had a broad smile which Mark returned with a glare.

"Where you been? You were supposed to be here at 11:00."

Hardcastle ignored the question. "Let me track down your release papers so we get outta here." He left the room before Mark could respond. Charlie Friedman and the Judge returned a short time later, Hardcastle listening intently to the doctor's instructions. Charlie reached his hand out to Mark who stood and shook it.

"Thanks, Doc. I appreciate everything."

"My pleasure, Mark. Now, remember what we talked about. Keep up with your breathing exercises, no exertion and keep out of the cold, damp weather. Just stay home, keep warm and rest up. It's going to be at least a few weeks before you're up to snuff. I'll see you next week for a follow-up. And, Happy New Year."

Oh yeah, New Year's. As they headed out Mark wondered which Hardcastle he would get for the upcoming holiday. He wasn't sure he was up for another round like he had endured at Christmas. Maybe this illness was a blessing. He could claim to need rest and just hide out in the gatehouse until the holiday had safely passed. Heck, with Charlie's suggestion of several week's rest, maybe he could stretch it through Martin Luther King Day for good measure. With a plan in place, he climbed into the truck and shut his eyes.

"You doing okay there, Kiddo?" Milt asked.

"Yeah, just glad to be going home." Mark startled himself with the choice of words. He privately thought of Gulls Way as home but he had never been so presumptuous to claim it out loud. He opened his eyes in a panic dreading the fallout. Hardcastle didn't bat an eye when he offered a simple reply.

"Yeah, I bet you are." Mark stared at him unbelieving not knowing what to think. He finally closed his eyes and enjoyed the sunshine streaming in through the window.

Hardcastle pulled up to the house and indicated for Mark to head to the front door. Mark longingly eyed the gatehouse, sighed, and slowly made his way into the house.

"Mark! It's so good to have you home", Sarah greeted him. "Now into the kitchen with you, I have soup and sandwiches waiting. Mark grinned a wide grin. Home. Soup. Real food. Happiness enveloped him. After a filling lunch and downing the pills handed to him, Hardcastle declared it was time for Mark to rest.

"Thanks, Judge, Sarah. I'm a bit tired." Mark headed for the back door but stopped short at Hardcastle's commanding voice.

"Not so fast, Hotshot. Not the gatehouse, upstairs. Sarah fixed a room for you, even brought over some of your clothes and such."

"Judge, I can rest just fine in the gatehouse," Mark protested.

"Nope. Charlie said stay warm and dry. The gatehouse is drafty and that open loft doesn't stay warm. Sorry, kid, but you're here with us at least until Charlie gives you the all clear." Mark looked at Sarah but immediately recognized the conspiracy. He sighed and headed upstairs, Hardcastle on his heel.

He made it to the room and saw that indeed Sarah had brought over the books he had been reading, clothes and even a photo he kept on his dresser. Then he saw the wrapped packages. He had purchased small gifts for the Judge and Sarah but had decided not to give them once he figured out Father Christmas was persona non grata at Gulls Way. He looked at the Judge, not sure what to say. Hardcastle saw Mark noticed the gifts and didn't miss the fearful expression.

"Sarah found those in your place. Figured since we missed Christmas maybe we could do something special for New Year's to make up for it. And don't forget we gotta watch the Rose Parade." Mark was astonished. "If that's okay with you…"

"No Judge," Mark interrupted. "I'd like that. But let me get some sleep so I can be ready for it. I've only got two days to get my strength up, right?"

"Yeah, and you aren't gonna push it." Hardcastle gruffed. "Do those breathing things Charlie showed you and then get some sleep. I'll wake you for dinner." Mark settled into the bed and Hardcastle gently pulled the blanket up around him. He smiled, noticing it was Nancy's favorite quilt.

Mark felt like a young boy being admonished by his father and for once being treated like a kid felt good and it felt right.

"Yes sir," he quietly said. Hardcastle looked sharply at him but saw no sign of the sarcasm he expected, but rather saw a tired little boy. He had never wanted this to happen but here it was, he felt needed, like a father, and it felt right. As the two men looked at each other each felt a familial bond and yet neither wanted to admit it.

"Okay, Hardcase, you've got me locked down here. You wanna put in bunk beds and be my cellie?" Mark teased.

"Ha! That'll be the day that you're 'locked down'. In fact, I bet you're planning a break for it as soon as my back's turned."

Mark smiled, enjoying the return of the friendly bantering. "Thanks for everything, Judge."

Hardcastle headed for the door and as he slowly closed it behind him he quietly replied, "You're welcome, Son."


End file.
